


Passion Fruit

by Puniyo



Series: Casting Shadows [4]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Angst, M/M, angst fest, implied unfaithfulness, memory trip, past relationship, sex at the pool, you're not going to find happiness here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:03:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puniyo/pseuds/Puniyo
Summary: ‘Didn’t you say you wouldn’t miss me?’‘What if I say I do?’Yuzuru and Javier reminisce what went wrong with their relationship. In a pool. Naked.[UPDATED AND COMPLETED 26/07/2018]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dear readers, this is a plot bunny that started haunting me after a very fruitful discussion about skating with my partner in crime, Mother_North (who happens to also have her take about this angst fest so go to her page and read her work too). I don't plan to develop this much and it will not be dark, but the theme fit this series better.
> 
> The usual disclaimer applies. This is purely a work of FICTION!

_‘Are you really wearing that?’_

_‘What’s wrong with it?’_

_‘Nothing. Nothing is wrong with it.’_

_‘You don’t like it.’_

_‘I do.’_

_‘You don’t.’_

_‘I like you without it.’_

_‘So you don’t like it.’_

_‘I like you without anything on.’_

_‘I like it when you take them off.’_

 

Practice for ice shows are never just practice sessions. Not when you have musicians, acrobats, ice dancers and skaters on the same rink, at the same time, with one intention in mind – to decipher the choreography from David Wilson (and the occasional input from Jeffrey Buttle). It’s never less than grandiose and Javier follows their instructions as faithful as he can, carefully not overstepping on someone’s else edge and definitely not into _his_ path. Javier pretends to hear what their group number is but his eyes are locked into the way he smiles at his fellow compatriots because of some joke he tells with his hands and blades, all in an unsynchronized pace.

Damn, Javier missed that smile.

 

_‘What is this?’_

_‘Happy Birthday.’_

_‘From an angel?’_

_‘Punished from thinking about someone besides the savior.’_

_‘Who might that be?’_

_‘A Spanish_ matador _, who kissed me once and promised to bring me back to heaven.’_

_‘Did he honor his words?’_

_‘He fucked me so hard I never want to go back.’_

 

They finish earlier than they have planned and the men start a battle for the most exquisite choreography themselves. Plushenko is lost in his passionate tango, Lambiel is stretching his legs in a ballet arabesque pose, and Javier is joining Chris for a paired step sequence (he had lost Kana to the costume fitting). It is strange and Javier is not used to lead someone who is taller and definitely way more experienced than him at foxtrot in slippery ice and sliding chassés. It is clumsy and comedic and both of them almost trip each other. The limited audience laughs, inclusively _he_ , who is by the side boards now, fingers running through his hair, like petals of flowers of the night.

 

_‘You smell so good.’_

_‘Stop messing with my hair!’_

_‘You’re so soft. I want to lick you all over and eat you.’_

_‘If you’re hungry, we can have dinner first.’_

_‘I’m hungry for you.’_

_‘This is so cheesy.’_

_‘I always want you.’_

_‘Is this a promise?’_

_‘It’s the truth.’_

 

It’s a lie. Javier knows it. _He_ knows it. But they are dancing now, together, finger on finger, sweaty palm on trembling palm, Javier’s hand on Yuzuru’s waist and Yuzuru’s hand on Javier’s wrist. They glide at their own rhythm even in silence, their own swing of shoulders and cadence of hips. With Chris, the steps were heavy, lumpish, crude. With Yuzuru, all the movements are natural, flowing from their joined effort and bodies, longing for the slightest touch and avoiding it altogether.

‘You still remember this piece.’

Yuzuru smiles, nostalgic pain defiling his immaculate lips. ‘I could never forget.’

Javier lingers longer on his slender silhouette, the prelude of a massage _he_ allowed him to continue, a feeble pressure on his skin that drew a whimper or the scratch of a fingernail that traced the drop of sweat down his navel to his pubic hairs.

‘Let go Javier.’

He does.

 

_‘Move.’_

_‘Wait.’_

_‘I want it now.’_

_‘I want you to feel me.’_

_‘I feel you. All of you. It’s growing inside of me.’_

_‘Damn you Yuzu.’_

_‘It’s leaking so much it’s tickling me. Go deeper.’_

_‘You won’t last long.’_

_‘You’re the one shaking. I know you want more. More of this warmth.’_

_‘I want it.’_

_‘Am I tight enough?’_

_‘Perfect.’_

_‘Move Javi.’_

 

The after party is like a broken record – celebrate the end of the shows season, socialize with fellow skaters and lobby for future appearances. The food is always great and Javier tries not to abuse on the intricate canapés and the possible variations of a lemon cheesecake (he never musters the willpower to do so though). He sees Yuzuru in the opposite side of the ballroom, at the bar, he too on a suit and tie, the sleeves somewhat too long and the whiteness of his shirt accentuating his own paleness. The cuff links shone even when they are separated by a sea of heads and frantic feet. _He_ still looks the same, as if the hourglass had broken and all the grains of sand had been splattered all over the universe. He still had the same charismatic aura in his posture, in the way he flicked his hair or the way he stole coy glances at him, pretending they were total strangers in a game of shameless courtship.

‘You never drank alcohol before.’ Javier orders a mojito, with less mint leaves and more lime juice.

Yuzuru takes a sip of his crystal tumbler, a white cocktail that smelled of Madagascar vanilla. He sucks on the cinnamon stick immersed in the drink. ‘I do now.’

 

_‘When are you coming back?’_

_‘Tomorrow.’_

_‘I’ll pick you up in the airport.’_

_‘It will probably be delayed and arrive after midnight.’_

_‘Even better. There will be almost no one there.’_

_‘What do you have in mind?’_

_‘I want to push you to the wall in the toilets and kiss you until you remember my taste.’_

_‘You’re too loud.’_

_‘Don’t you like my voice?’_

_‘I love it.’_

_‘I’ll call your name over and over.’_

_‘We will be found out.’_

_‘Make me quiet then. You know how.’_

 

Javier is staying in the 7th floor but his feet have dragged him to the 12th and he is now standing in front of his room and staring at the large golden numbers on the door. _1278_. These are just numbers but the memory trip is at the doorstep and Javier travels it willingly – twelve cities different where they have competed together; seven times he slapped Yuzuru’s buttocks because he asked him to and he loved to bite the angry crimson on his ivory skin, bite and lick each dent and wound before he darted his tongue on his entrance; eight times he held Yuzuru’s hand under the table on the café at Cricket Club, under the tables of their press conferences, under the banners with their names on their training rink – Olympic Champion and _Champion of My Heart_.

 

_‘Do you remember the first time?’_

_‘I was so scared.’_

_‘Why?’_

_‘What if things didn’t work out? What if I was the only one wanting this?’_

_‘I have wanted you since I came to Toronto.’_

_‘What if I hurt you?’_

_‘You would never hurt me.’_

_‘I always went home immediately after training. I couldn’t control myself seeing you strip off all those layers to get into the shower.’_

_‘I know. That’s why I did it as slow as I could. I knew that you enjoyed the show.’_

 

The room is dark, only a few patchouli candles lit for their aroma rather than their luminescence. _His_ suitcase is there, open, his clothes on the floor, underwear next to the sliding windows that gave access to the outside garden. Yuzuru is swimming in the pool, completely naked, a few meters in an improvised breaststroke, his body dimly lit by the turquoise water. An apparition Javier thinks, emerging and disappearing into the clear water, his breath sharp and resonant as he inhales to dive. A siren in a nymph’s disguise that had lured him.

No, he willingly sought him.

‘How did you get in?’ Yuzuru notices Javier but he doesn’t stop swimming.

‘I used to do this.’ Javier sits at the edge of the pool, at the shallow side, on the tile-covered steps. The water is warm, not gelid like he had imagined.

‘Not anymore.’

‘So you learnt how to swim.’

Yuzuru is next to Javier, completely indifferent to his own nude state. Water drips from his hair onto his eyelashes and rests on his upper lip. He licks the droplets. ‘I told you I could do it.’

‘Yeah, you did.’

‘What are you doing here?’

Javier strips off his polo shirt and dives in the water as well, doing a few laps as his muscles accommodate to the pressure of the buoyancy. The water smells of chlorine but also of jasmine flowers and _Yuzuru_.

‘Didn’t you say you wouldn’t miss me?’

The younger man lifts himself out of the pool, a white robe around his thin figure and a towel to dry his hair. He speaks in the calmest demeanor, all the words stressed the same and Javier hates it. Yuzuru is playing the unaffected trump card while he is hoping that the water will fortify the iron defense around his own heart. He is trembling but he can always blame the cold temperature.

‘What if I say I do?’


	2. Ripened and Seedless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Things don't have to change.'
> 
> 'They already did.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, since Passion Fruit got some quite nice feedback (thank you so much!), I'm giving you the second part. I don't have much to say, my depressed brain won't let me, except an apology because I have no idea how to write a blowjob with only dialogue and no descriptions. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of FICTION from my twisted mind. In no ways it reflects the lives of the people mentioned. 
> 
> Let the angst fest begin!

‘Didn’t you say you wouldn’t miss me?’

Yuzuru is quick to envelop himself in a pristine white robe, iron pressed, folded and smelling of magnolia, carefully arranged by the mindful staff of the hotel. Professionalism above everything else.

Professionalism above pleasure, he was reminding himself.

‘What if I say I do?’

He ties the sash at his waist, securely fastened around his slender frame not giving Javier another peek, as the older man leaned on the opposite side of the pool where he was sitting now. The towel on his head is soft, even more than the robe, and he pretends to have not heard the question as he dries his hair. Magnolia, chlorine, and lemongrass from the cloth – a full course of aromatherapy that was being wasted on him.

‘I miss you.’

Javier’s gaze is fixed on him. If he didn’t know him, he would believe he was telling the truth. Maybe he was.

‘Stop it.’

‘Why? Do you want me to lie?’

‘Isn’t it what you are doing now?’

‘Yuzuru.’

‘Please _don’t_.’

 

 

_‘Why are you laughing?’_

_‘Your face.’_

_‘My face?’_

_‘Your face in my dream.’_

_‘How many times are you going to dream of me?’_

_‘As many as I want to.’_

_‘What was I doing?’_

_‘Nothing.’_

_‘Nothing?’_

_‘Yeah. You were just like now, in bed.’_

_‘And you?’_

_‘I was looking at your face. And your body.’_

_‘Why do you dream of me naked? You just need to ask.’_

_‘I couldn’t ask in the dream.’_

_‘Because you were laughing?’_

_‘Because you kept filling my mouth with your cock.’_

 

 

‘How’s Valeria?’

The towel is tossed aside, defiled of its initial wrapped state. Yuzuru’s hair had grown a few inches and it appeared even longer now, wet, every single strand sleek and glowing under the dim lights of the pool and the witnessing moonlight. Javier does a few more laps, the mastery of the butterfly stroke accentuating the muscles of his shoulders and back as his torso went in and out of the water.

Keep it professional – a second reminder.

‘She’s great.’ Javier is slightly out of breath but this time he leans on Yuzuru’s side, just a few meters away from his feet that dangled on the edge and played with the still current. ‘She’s jealous that we are in the same show. You usually don’t do this one.’

‘I changed my mind.’

‘She thinks I will spend more time with you than with her. Silly of her.’

‘Really silly.’

It is summer but night breezes are the most treacherous and Yuzuru suppresses a sneeze. His face is contorted into a caricature of himself and Javier can’t help but laugh.

It is a professional smile, his trump card – last reminder.

‘Well, she’s got nothing to fear.’

‘How about you?’ He gestures to the space in front of them, to the reflection of the half moon in the water. ‘Who taught you to swim?’

Yuzuru shakes his head. ‘No one.’

‘Why?’

‘I like to be on my own.’

‘Not even for your boredom?’

Yuzuru clenches his hands into fists. ‘Maybe I’m not really compatible with others.’

‘You’re on celibacy now?’

He splashes a handful (foot full) of water to Javier’s direction, surprising the older man who retaliates the same way. He shifts promptly to dodge the dash and his robe opens a little, revealing his inner thigh and a small cartoon of a wing on it.

‘Bodies are many. A good fuck too.’

Javier lifts himself from the edge and sits right next to him. He can see Yuzuru searching for the other half of the wing on him and he shows him his right wrist, right where the palm meets the creases on the skin.

‘Am I not compatible anymore?’

 

 

_‘Continue. You’re doing so well.’_

_‘…’_

_‘Do that again.’_

_‘…’_

_‘Sss! Why are you biting me?’_

_‘So… dee… manding.’_

_‘Yes! Keep doing it.’_

_‘Hmmm.’_

_‘I want to go deeper. Can I?'_

_‘Mmmh. Mmmh.’_

_‘Talk to me.’_

_‘…’_

_‘I love your voice when your mouth is full of me.’_

_‘Ja… vi!’_

 

 

‘You know the answer, Javi.’

‘I want to hear from you.’

‘ _Yes_.’ His voice is so low that he was the only recipient of that word. He and the air surrounding them. He looks up to the starry sky, the infinite shining dots mocking him of his weakness. He extends his hands towards them, wanting to pluck every single one from the curtain of the night and throw them away to the nearest trash can. ‘No.’

‘What went wrong?’

Javier’s hand searches for Yuzuru’s, his fingertips tentatively brushing the tip of his knuckles and the depressions between them.

‘Nothing,’ he turns his hand up, interlacing their fingers. They fit into each other perfectly, joint with joint, phalange with phalange. The warmth of their entwined hands was as exactly as he remembered. ‘Nothing was wrong with us. That’s why everything crumbled so easily.’

Yuzuru releases the hand, not forceful but assertive, and giving the final unspoken goodbye. ‘It’s time for you to go.’ He stands up, searching for his towel again.

Javier catches his wrist just as quick, stopping his movements. ‘Yuzuru–‘

‘I have someone coming.’ He hopes his voice is as convincing as someone else that wasn’t him. For one, he had never mastered the art of lying.

‘The boy at the dinner?’

‘It’s none of your business who I sleep with.’

The grip of the arm intensifies. ‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Liar.’

Javier knows it’s jealousy filling and poisoning his blood but the illusion of courage is what he needs now, and he pulls Yuzuru to the pool again, the younger man falling to the middle of the shallow water, his almost dry hair plastered to his forehead and the robe soaked. There is something enticing in the way Yuzuru opens his mouth to recover his breath and even more alluring the way his eyes shimmer with anger.

‘What are _you_ doing?’

‘I don’t mind who’s coming,’ Javier walks to Yuzuru, his hands bracing and anchoring at his neck, his face approaching for a kiss, ‘I will prepare you for him.’

 

 

_‘It tastes really bad probably.’_

_‘It’s delicious.’_

_‘Really?’_

_‘Try it.’_

_‘Mmmm, it needs more salt.’_

_‘I’m sick.’_

_‘But it’s really delicious.’_

_‘I should be sick more often.’_

_‘You want me to be your slave?’_

_‘Is that your new kink?’_

_‘No, I prefer certain Spanish uncles who have fevers from riding rollercoasters.’_

_‘And this one is bored so entertain me.’_

_‘Aren’t you sleepy?’_

_‘Not if you refuse to wear pants.’_

_‘Let’s watch a movie then.’_

_‘What was the name of that one that you told me last week?'_

_‘Let’s watch porn.’_

_‘You don’t have mercy, do you?’_

_‘It’s to lullaby you to sleep.’_

_‘That one looks nice.’_

_‘No. He looks too much like you.’_

_‘Why do you want some actor that is so different from me?’_

_‘I don’t want to commit a crime.’_

_‘Rob the store for more DVDs?’_

_‘Violate a sick man. And there are already blu-rays.’_

_‘It might cure the flu.’_

 

 

Their lips clash again and again, both seeking for the taste they have been deprived for more than they could endure. Javier is the one to start the dance of tongues but Yuzuru retaliates just as voracious and greedy. Their teeth collide like amateurs in experimental kisses but then their flesh expertly lick the palate, the soft sides, saliva dripping from the corner of their mouths. There are tobacco and lime vodka, vanilla caramels and the bitterness of water that dripped to their lips in their kiss.

They are both in the middle of the pool, stopping only because their survival instinct for oxygen kicked in. Javier presses down gently on the sides of Yuzuru’s neck, constricting his throat from air. The younger man pulls him by the hair, rough, just how he loved, so they share the same wind, the same elixir of life and toxins.

‘Won’t you beg me to take you?’

‘Why give you the satisfaction?’

Javier kisses Yuzuru again as his hands descend to his collarbones and open the surplus garment, heavy and obstructing the urgent need he had for their bodies to come together. Their pectorals and nipples touch, skin on skin, sweat on chlorine. He can feel the rising pulse near his jaw. Yuzuru feels his heart might rip open his ribcage. His robe soon floats, drifting away from his body and he is completely exposed again.

‘You’re hard.’

‘Yours is not dormant either.’

They walk to the shallowest part of the pool, almost floating, fighting the lifting strain of the buoyancy. Yuzuru is the one to push Javier down to the steps in the momentarily display of dominance, knee brushing his groin without any hesitation. It’s twisted the lust that burns in his gut and the shudder that annihilates all his resolves to say ‘no’ when the pink, swollen tip of Javier’s erection peek through his briefs. His knee is soon replaced by his hand that swiftly yanks away the wet underwear and his hand by his lips, a platonic kiss on the slit, a controlled lick on the underside.

Javier tries to support himself on the rubber mats on the drain but he throws his head back, hitting the tiles on the step above when Yuzuru takes him completely, his shaft almost hitting the back of his throat, eliciting the muffled, guttural moan he had missed so much.

‘Fuck.’

It’s all a tease for the younger man when he releases the throbbing member and his lips glistening with precum that he uses as lipstick. He kisses Javier again, letting him have a taste of himself.

‘Is this enough?’

The older man leaves the pool, the cool night breeze like knives on his muscles and erection. He pretends he can walk steadily back to the room when all he wants is to walk to Yuzuru and push him into a corner, any corner, until he can’t escape anymore and then bury deep _into_ him, gagging him so they found wouldn’t be found out – in public toilets, in the airports, in the blind spots of the Cricket Club, in Brian’s house, in his parents’ house, in PyeongChang away from the cameras, in the backstage of ice shows.

Yuzuru laughs, sarcastically but pitifully. He lies on the steps, just where Javier was, the water barely brushing his navel and masking his still hard manhood. His forearm covers his eyes, shielding him from the judging moon and the vein pressing back the tears that were threatening to leak.

It’s the returning footsteps that he wished never came and he curses his heart for stirring up again. _Fuck you Javier Fernández_ , he doesn’t voice this aloud. _Fuck you too Yuzuru_.

‘You still keep them in the same place.’ Javier has a condom and a small bottle in his hands.

‘I told you someone was coming.’

 

 

_‘Brian will be so mad at you.’_

_‘He won’t.’_

_‘Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?’_

_‘Doesn’t it look good?’_

_‘It’s blue.’_

_‘Étude too. And Parisienne Walkways.’_

_‘It’s platinum blue.’_

_‘You’re the one playing safe.’_

_‘Discrete.’_

_‘Your medal is more discrete than your head.’_

_‘It looks normal.’_

_‘So you’re a_ matador _who can’t take the horns by the bull?’_

_‘The bull by the horns. And I would take it by the balls.’_

_‘Very discrete.’_

_‘I can take yours too.’_

_‘Only the balls?’_

_‘Everything.’_

 

 

It’s almost instant the reversal of roles and it is nothing more than shame and guilt corroding Yuzuru in his conscience. Yet, he is opening his legs further apart so Javier can nest between them, his own body recognizing the hand that trails down his abdomen and draws circles around his belly button, pinching his navel. It is the aphrodisiac in Javier’s musk and pine cologne and the reflection of the animalistic appetite in the hazelnut of his eyes. He bites his lower lip when teeth sink in the wing tattoo in his inner thigh, stifling any lascivious sound that dared to escape his mouth.

‘You used to cry when I did this.’ Javier gnaws again on the delicate skin, bruising it to a vivid crimson and more so it would bloom into purple.

‘You used to come just by looking at my–‘

The stress of his weight at his elbows is suddenly too much and he hisses when a finger enters him, sleek, with strawberry lotion, without any warning. His chest rises with the sharp inhalation and Javier sucks a drop of water on his sternum.

‘You’re still so tight Yuzuru.’

‘It’s what they love the most.’

A second finger follows until it disappears completely within him, the ring of muscle petting his knuckle.

‘I still know where your spot is.’

Yuzuru shakes his head but Javier does find his prostate soon with a third finger and he clings to his body for support, feeling all strength leave his own as pleasure jolts him like electricity, muffling a humiliated cry on the older man’s shoulder. Nothing felt more wrong and yet he was pleading that it never stopped.

‘Open this,’ Javier brings a small plastic packet to his lips, ‘if you want to continue.’

Yuzuru grazes the jagged edges and cuts it with his teeth, his actions contradicting the red light from his (departed) restraint. The condom is green, pathetically ugly, and his hands are trembling when he slides it on Javier’s erection, bracing the pulsating organ.

He’s glad his hair is still dripping wet and the lights are dim. He could disguise the solitary tear on the pretense of flushed cheeks and leftover water from their dive together.

 

 

_‘What did you have?’_

_‘You saw it.’_

_‘I want you to tell me.’_

_‘A wing. Like yours.’_

_‘Why? You said you wanted a–‘_

_‘You have the other pair.’_

_‘You’re not going to regret it?’_

_‘I thought you would like it.’_

_‘Everyone will see it on your wrist.’_

_‘Let them see. Let them know how much I want you.’_

 

 

Javier thrusts into Yuzuru, burying himself to the hilt, the most carnal groan echoing on the garden surrounding them. Their fingers are once again entangled, braided as one only, providing them the only foundation they would need. They ride on instinct, on the primal need to receive and take. Yuzuru’s high pitched moans are prayers and each time Javier penetrates with more wanton, his manhood out but immediately in again and stronger, deeper, he loses himself in the savagery and hunger of their desire.

‘So good,’ there was no one else with the same addicting heat as Yuzuru, ‘so good.’ He was so hard, all the nerves concentrated on the tip of his cock, that it was painful and there was no way to quench this fever if not hustling in the unforgiving warmth he missed so much. ‘So good,’ the way each ring of muscles would suck and milk him to completion each time Yuzuru sighed when he pulled away and cried when he impaled again, ‘ _so good_.’

‘Stop,’ the steps hurt his back and water splashed around them, between them, making them more of a mess of limbs and wrecked eroticism than they ever were, better than he would ever experience with anyone else, ‘ _stop talking_.’

Javier is the first one to come, his load caught in the latex of the condom. He doesn’t pull out, not ready to dissolve their union yet, and he works Yuzuru to the climax, rubbing him and pumping his erection until his semen coats his fingers and their stomachs. He brings the essence, scorching on his skin in its creaminess to Yuzuru’s lips. The younger man sucks them eagerly, tasting himself, and pulls Javier for a kiss.

‘Sweet.’

‘Bitter.’

 

 

_‘Come back.’_

_‘C’mon, stop whining.’_

_‘It’s too cold.’_

_‘It’s Toronto.’_

_‘I like Madrid better.’_

_‘Here, hold my hand.’_

_‘They’re freezing.’_

_‘Warm them then.’_

_‘Where are your gloves?’_

_‘I left them in your bag.’_

_‘Why mine?’_

_‘So I can have an excuse to search for your underwear.’_

_‘Pervert.’_

_‘I want to dance.’_

_‘It’s snowing.’_

_‘It will keep us warm.’_

_‘I don’t dance.’_

_‘Now you do.’_

_‘This is stupid.’_

_‘I know. That’s why I wanted to do it.’_

_‘Can’t we be stupid inside?’_

_‘You never thought of fucking in the snow?’_

_‘That’s even more stupid.’_

_‘The snow? Or fucking?’_

_‘You and your stupid ideas.’_

_‘It makes you hard.’_

_‘Damn you Yuzuru.’_

_‘Fuck me Javier.’_

_‘Not here.’_

_‘Fuck me_ Javi _.’_

 

 

‘Do you want a drink?’

Yuzuru is out of the pool, towel again on his hair and he walks normally despite his soreness. Perhaps the squeezing and shuffling of the cotton on the strands could also shake away the hollowness he is feeling.

‘Why can’t things be the same as before?’

‘You made your choice. I made mine.’

‘Nothing has changed.’

‘They did!’ It’s the first time that Yuzuru raises his voice. He takes a deep breath, his body still trembling and twitching from the post-orgasmic bliss. ‘We never used a condom before.’

‘Yuzuru–‘

‘I loved it. You too. You loved watching your semen run down my thighs. There used to be nothing between us.’

Javier approaches Yuzuru for a kiss, their lips meeting in an artificial charade.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’

The patchouli candles in the room have finished burning and there is total darkness enveloping them. The only light is the faint orange LED glow from the mini-fridge.

‘Is tonic water okay?’

Javier doesn’t answer, only nods, and Yuzuru throws him the aluminum can. It almost falls to the floor.

‘Things don’t have to change.’

‘They already did.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated! Knives not.


End file.
